


The Path I Take

by L0chn3ss



Series: The Path I Take [1]
Category: Octopath Traveler (Video Game), Soul Eater
Genre: Abandonment Issues, Gen, Minor Character Deaths, Murder TW, Octopath Traveler AU, Octopath Traveler Spoilers, Personal loss, Prostitution TW, Resbang 2019, Resonance Bang 2019, Video Game AU, cursing tw, death tw
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-20
Updated: 2019-12-20
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:02:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 10,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21867964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/L0chn3ss/pseuds/L0chn3ss
Summary: Resbang 2019: Upon eight roads are eight figures, each walking forward to the very end of their worlds. Patty the Cleric, Death the Kid the Scholar, Mizune the Merchant, Sid the Warrior, Maka the Dancer, Kilik the Apothecary, Soul the Thief, and Jackie the Hunter cross on the paths that they take. Octopath Traveler AU.
Series: The Path I Take [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1575451
Comments: 9
Kudos: 6
Collections: Soul Eater Resonance Bang 2019





	1. The Beginning

**Octopath Traveler AU; Resbang 2019**

**Story by L0chn3ss, Art by Efferful**

All around the land of Ostrerra, the stories of eight travelers unfolded.

One plea speaks of a lonely cleric with no family. She gives prayer to her god, hoping that His warmth would remain with her as she broke the remaining ties that she had left.

Next are the warnings of a scholar who learned too much to bear. He left his dreams within the walls of the academy, and faced the horrors that dark magic would teach those who weren’t ready.

Then comes the tale of a merchant who only wished for her own to tell. She negotiated her own freedom and found that the world was wide, maybe even too wide for her to take on.

Following are the musings of a man whose past continues to haunt him. He seeks to understand why he, and those he sought to protect, had to fall to the hand of a partner whom he trusted with his life.

On goes the dance of a vindictive girl who abandoned her shame to become karma’s incarnation. She holds onto the illusion of revenge on the very people who stole everything from her in one fatal strike.

Adding to the fray is the peaceful apothecary who searches for the cure to human nature. He found all the right reasons to abandon his resolution, yet he gives what he has left in hopes he is wrong.

Hidden away from prying eyes is a thief who carries reminders of his failures on his very body. He lives in guilt, in the shadow of his greatest regrets, as it follows him forward like a prisoner tied to his ankle.

Finally is the sighting of a huntress whose search ends with her master. She yearns to protect those who are lost, but what she finds are greater, untameable threats that span further than her forest.

They needed allies on the paths they’ve chosen, and found such loyalties within lovely beginnings and wretched ends. 

* * *

**Characters**

Patricia Thompson as Ophelia Clement. Will you hear the pleas of a priestess turned to sin?  
Her name was Patty, and she was a cleric.

Death the Kid as Cyrus Albright. Will you heed the warnings the scholar will tell?  
His name was Kid, and he was a scholar.

Mizune Sister as Tressa Colzione. Will you follow the tale of a shrewd girl?  
Her name was Mizune, and she was a merchant.

Sid Barrett as Olberic Eisenberg. Will you listen to the musings of a broken man?  
His name was Sid, and he was a warrior.

Maka Albarn as Primrose Azelhart. Will you watch the dance of a vengeful maiden?  
Her name was Maka, and she was a dancer.

Kilik Rung as Alfyn Greengrass. Will you know the bitterness of a hopeless dreamer?  
His name was Kilik, and he was an apothecary.

Soul Eater Evans as Therion. Will you trail the path of a lonely thief?  
His name was Soul, and he was a thief.

Jacqueline O'Lantern Dupre as H’aanit. Will you catch a glimpse of the elusive huntress?  
Her name was Jackie, and she was a hunter.


	2. Patty; Chapter 1

Patricia Thompson as Ophelia Clement.

Her name was Patty, and she was a cleric.

In the snow-covered city of Flamesgrace,  
the young orphan was brought to the doorsteps of the church  
after her home was ravaged by war.

Heart closed and mourning her losses,  
she was brought back from solitude by another broken soul,  
a new sister who showed her what warmth really meant.

With her loyalties revived for her adoptive sister and father,  
she happily spent her days in the service of the Flame  
in the Great Cathedral in the Frostlands.

When her best friend and sister was chosen to carry out  
the Kindling, a holy pilgrimage embarked only once every twenty years,  
they prepared for the best, but then, the worst came.

Will you hear the pleas of a priestess turned to sin?

* * *

**Chapter 1; Patty**

Snow fell onto Patty’s tongue as she danced in the freshly lain landscape. She wasn’t due at the church for another few minutes, so she spent the last few moments outside where the tall mountains touched the sky and where people were watched by their progenitor gods.

In that very field, her adoptive sister showed her what light could shine and how happiness far happiness could reach. Since then, she has called Liz her family, and family was all she had left.

Atop of the earth that looked over the church, she plopped onto the ground, feeling the cold wetness of frosty grass seep through her clergy-issued slip. At least the fabric was still white, because if she came into the church with a stain on her bottom, she’d get laughs from the mass-goers and be scolded by the brothers.

Still, she made no effort to lift herself until the bells chimed for midday’s mass. The sound was clear as day, as if it rang just next to her. She patted herself down and ran down her secret hill, back to Alferic’s altar where her father and sister waited.

* * *

“Sissy,” Patty affectionately called Liz. “Are you almost ready?”

“Almost ready for what,” she teased. “There’s still a lot of things to do today.”

“You know what for, Lizzy. This is going to be the biggest trip of your life!”

“Maybe.”

Every twenty years, the sacred pilgrimage must be embarked by a single member of the Order. They gathered a part of the fire from the Cave of Origin under Aelfric’s eyes and carried that flame to the three corners of Ostrerra, where it would burn for another twenty years. In total, three altars must be renewed with the original spark that touched the ground during the 13 gods’ descension.

Patty didn’t believe in the legends though, because there was no way that a fire in a cave could burn for a thousand years. There must have been someone who had to relight the fire often, she thought. Maybe it was her father who protected that secret, especially when the entrance of the cave was guarded.

If she were to be truthful, she was annoyed that the Kindling was taking her sister for however long she needed to be away. Liz didn’t ask to be chosen by the flame, and she procrastinated on packing for the journey until an elder sister did it for her in a huff. Her duty alone kept her complacent, but Liz was always afraid of the unknown. 

Maybe Patty could go with her this time.

“Sissy, I could come—”

“No Patty, your task lies with father. He wants you to stay to care for the holy statues in the foyer. You can do that, yes?”

“But that’s boring! Lizzie, I want to—”

Liz repeated, “No, Patty. You are needed here, with the church. I will be just fine.”

By the time Liz finished speaking, her dearest sister was already gone with the wind, upset at all she’d heard.

* * *

Worry kept Patty awake and away from the comforts of her shared chambers. Nightfall only made the snow glow an unearthly color, and she felt safe, away from what awaited her sister in the morning. She wrapped her cloak closer to her body, but it didn’t do much for her legs while she dug herself further into the snow. 

No matter the risk, she wanted to be close to her family, and if it resulted in the end of the world, then so be it.

She paused for a quick moment to shake her head. A bit of ice dropped from her head to her lap as she frowned, remembering that Lizzie told her that it wasn’t good of her to wish ill will towards others. It was harder to do than Lizzie knew.

Patty only returned after her sister decided that they’d both been away from their bed for long enough, scaling the hill behind the church to find her and pulling her back to the fire in their room.

As usual, she awoke to the bustle of the church, but unsettling differences called her to consciousness.

It took her no time at all to wrap a shawl around her shoulders and to stop a nearby clergyperson to answer her questions.

“Your father has fallen. He is not breathing.”

* * *

Her adoptive father was a good man, a man of god.

He had one child of his own, from what Patty had heard long ago when she first made the Church her home, but lost the toddler in the same fire that consumed Liz’s original life. With no time to mourn, he adopted Liz and made her his prodigy, and in no more than two years, Patty joined their little family.

Together, specializing in the passages of the dead, Archbishop Ezekiel became known as the death master, and his two daughters were his reapers. They taught the word of Aelfric, believing with all their being that the gift of life was a treasure irreplaceable. To respect and preserve the cycle of the world, they conducted rites for the people and served in the Great Church of Flamesgrace in the furthest north of Frostlands. They prayed for the losses but celebrated life’s creations, marking the beginning of a new era brought forth by the battle of the gods.

Archbishop Ezekiel loved his people equally, but if it were so, he would love his daughters the most. And if it were so, his daughters returned his love to the fullest.

Patty woke her sister and together they rushed to his side. It had not been five minutes since the brothers of the church brought him to his chambers and wiped the sweat off his brow. Father Ezekiel collapsed just after breakfast; the frosting of his morning biscuit still around the rim of his mouth.

“He seemed fine this morning, but it is just like him to hide his discomfort until it consumed him entirely.”

“Aelfric, why?” Liz fell to her knees. “I— oh, Father.”

She was not due to leave until midday’s snow, but dew of morn was quickly disappearing. After a significant amount of time still by their father’s bed, he touched dear Lizzie’s hand and reminded her of the Kindling.

“Father, how could you say that at a time like this?”

Patty couldn’t understand why her sister still needed to go. “She can stay here--”

Ezekiel hushed his youngest daughter. “Someone must go. The flame must be lit.” He breathed heavily, as if every word were his last.

“Do not talk any more, Father,” Liz begged, for fear of his spirit will exit faster. “I will go, but only after you are alright.”

“Now, Lizzie. The Kindling--”

“Father, please!”

“Then, I will go,” Patty said plainly. “Lizzie, you can stay here.”

“Patty? You can’t, you weren’t chosen by the--”

“I don’t care. Lizzie, you can’t go, you have to stay with Father. You can take care of him while I’m gone. I can be right back. All I have to do is get to the three fires, right?”

Despite her sister’s protests and worry, Patty heard Ezekiel’s low voice, “Aelfric, guide her. You may go, Patricia.”


	3. Kid, Chapter 1

Death the Kid as Cyrus Albright.

His name was William, and he was a scholar.

At the illustrious Royal Academy in Atlasdam,   
the most decorated professor stood at the podium,   
lecturing and challenging his students in the same breath.

He had no reservations about his quest for knowledge   
nor did his dear colleagues ever question it,   
but to be sound and fair, there were no other goals he hold onto,   
in the endless life that he was given.

All there was waiting for him   
was the passion he had for his craft, his magic,   
despite the ill taken attempts of his friends, long gone.

When rumors of missing tomes from the Academy reached him   
And the danger of The Darkness that set out to misuse the teachings,   
he took it upon himself to recover them.

Will you heed the warnings the scholar will tell?

* * *

**Chapter 1; Kid**

**To be posted...**


	4. Mizune, Chapter 1

Mizune Sister as Tressa Colzione. 

Her name was Mitsuki, and she was a merchant.

Rippletide was too small for a young believer   
for adventure and for dreams of a vast world outside,   
unclouded by overbearing family and competition.

She never learned to stand out or to stand alone,   
not on her own two feet when she had countless sisters   
who could always do more, always be better.

In the furthest city in the Coastlands,   
a grand merchant’s ship docked at the furthest anchorage,   
beckoning her to its haul as it promised wares   
that only a trained eye could see.

Putting herself at risk of a pirate’s greed,   
the little merchant found herself wanting to protect   
more than just her pride.

Will you follow the adventurous tale of a shrewd girl?

* * *

**Chapter 1; Mizune**

The walked from the coast and back, away from the noise of her small town and down to the edge of her world where fresher sand abounded. Mizune kicked at a shell, but cursed when she flipped it over to find it to be a tourist’s treasure. Begrudgingly, she used it to fill the final space in her bag, so that her elder sisters wouldn't find it themselves.

Stealing the last few minutes of solitude, she sighed heavily and signed away the peace of the evening.

When she approached her small town house, she was immediately pushed aside by a younger sister, who ran in before her just to have the right to brag that she did. An older sister was already showing off her wares to her father, and the youngest was sneaking out trinkets from the eldest who had her back turned for a second too long.

The competition, the sheer discord, was contagious, and Mizune found herself exhibiting those same behaviors that she loathed. 

Mitsuki Mizune was a small girl, the 4th oldest in the family and the 5th from the bottom. The only reason why her family stopped growing was because her mother died in childbirth, losing her last child in the process. Their father, however, was quick to replace her-- just like his second wife, the mother they had before hers. So far, the new woman was barren, and so Mizune gave her only 5 weeks before she was replaced by a new, fertile one. Her stepmother was already losing the respect and obedience of her new family as she struggled to get their muddy pouches off of the table in time for dinner.

Mizune snuck away, because one sister gone was no reason to raise alarm. Two gone, and perhaps someone would be suspicious. Three, and there would be questions to answer and pride as merchants to protect.

She turned her back on the Mizu Franchise, and she scurried off to the night market, where she hoped to find more adventure and more room to spread than her little home could ever offer her.

* * *

From one sort of chaos to another, Mizune thrived in the bustle of the streets. Very few vendors could tell the girls apart, maybe through the help of their age or experience in commercialism. Perhaps this one was a bit taller than when they saw her last, maybe shorter, rounder, thinner, maybe? But they all greeted her the same as if they were one girl, someone who they’ve seen frequently without question.

Mitsuki wasn’t offended, in fact, she was prepared. She marched up to the women who knew her sisters and asked for a bargain off their sweet bread, trading only a shill for a warm loaf. Then, she browsed the stalls for trends that she’d missed before, continuing conversations she’s never had and trading a tyn for information she was never promised.

All of her sisters must do this, she reasoned, because none of the townsfolk were surprised that she couldn’t recognize simple tidbits from days prior. The Mizune family were sneaky folk, learning early that they couldn’t trust even their family to secure their own dealings.

When she made her way across town towards the harbor where merchant ships set up their tables and where foreign treats sparkled in the lamp light, she noticed a free area barren of visitors. A pity for the captain, she scoffed, moving onto the next area until she heard the faint jingle of laughter from that empty shop.

From the deck came an unseemly man; his eyes were covered with a bandana and clothes tattered at the seams. He issued an order to a member of his crew, something mundane enough to cater another laugh, and went behind the table closest to the gangway to adjust his merchandise and relieve the previous man for the night. The man seemed to notice Mizune’s interest and motioned her closer.

She pointed at herself and came forth when he nodded.

“You’ve been standing there for a while, eh, little lady?”

“Just curious, sailor,” she said sweetly, not revealing herself quite yet.

“Aye? And your name?”

“A name for a name.”

“A cheeky one, ain’tcha?” The familiar laugh came again. “Very well, people from these parts can call me Captain Free.”

“Then, you’re not a familiar face?”

“Save your questions until after your introduction,” he said good naturedly.

She offered, “Mizune,” but hestitated when he hadn’t responded.

After a painful moment of silence, he asked, “That’s it?”

“What else could there be?” Her curiously this time was genuine.

“Usually, adventurers have a title to go along with them, eh? I’m a captain, and you are?”

He waited for her to finish, but the more she thought, the more she fell into herself. “I’m… a Mizune Sis--”

A scream interrupted her, and she was glad for it. From deeper down in the docks, a pair of pirates pushed their way through the crowd and into the caves by the shoreline.

* * *

Part of her wished that she didn’t care, but the other part that craved sick excitement tried to follow Captain Free to the Caves of Maiya. He caught her not too far into the depths and ordered her to stay close to him unless she could carry a weapon.

Mizune shook her head, not understanding why she felt the burn of shame, but she picked up after the messy trail of the thieves and made room in her small evening satchel for what they found. Along the way, the captain ushered her further, reminding to keep her eyes on the end.

When they made it to the den of criminals, they found henchmen sprawled atop of their riches while the main villains fought over a woman’s necklace wrapped around both their hands. They taunted one another and mocked each others features, letting themselves be riled by the comments of their group who were too distracted to notice that Captain Free had drawn a sword.

He swung it deftly between the two men, handle first, hooking his hilt onto the sturdy chain and yanking it back to make them fall at his feet. He pointed the blade at the neck of the taller looking one and lifted his bandana for a better look, revealing a strange red glow-- no, a red tinted eye without an iris.

Mizune gasped, but one of the men beat her to any questions she may have asked. “The Sea Wolf with the Demon Eye-- you’re alive? You--”

The sword poked his chin next.

“Nay, the ‘Sea Wolf’ died in a storm some time ago.”

The other pirate stumbled, “But, you stand before us now! You are a leg--”

“I’m Captain Free now,” he sighed, switching again to silence them. “Little lady, tie their hands and leave no man. None of you will move while she works, eh?”

Not a peep came from the crew who knew the danger of what it meant to disobey the Lost Pirate King.

* * *

“Thank ye,” Captain Free nodded towards Mitsuki. “For your trouble, you should take anything you desire from my ship.”

She hesitated, “Is it all ‘stolen booty’?”

Laughing, he denied it. “I turned a new leaf some time ago, lass. I’m a captain of a merchant ship now, but this vessel, she’s seen many lands. You say you’re a merchant, aye? See if you can find something worth your while.”

It took some digging, but despite the gold from desert tombs and fine silk from Wellspring, despite the finest goblets from Atlasdam and treasures from Orewell, it was a flash of bronze that caught her attention. Soft leather folds and splotches of green patina on the buckle told her its age. When she opened it, she saw it was used, filled half way and abandoned.

“Captain, what is this?”

“Ah, a journal. It belonged to a man I once knew. ‘Said he didn’t need it anymore because of where he was headed. I don’t think he ever finished writing, but it made for a good story, or at least what’s there.”

She stared at the pages, reading what she could with her limited words. There was mention of the sea, of potions, of love. Captain Free patted her shoulder, “Is this for you?”

Mitsuki said, “Yes, and I will write my own adventure into it.”


	5. Sid; Chapter 1

Sid Barrett as Olberic Eisenberg.

His name was Sidney, and he was a warrior.

He found himself in Cobbleston as a sellsword,  
but stayed to become their guard  
after finding that the little mountain town was in need.

Littered with brigands like leaves o’er the hills,  
and always on the alert from the threat of the wolves,  
the town slowly rebuilt with the strength of the soldier.

However, he often woke with his hand on his hilt  
and chest feeling too tight, remembering,  
never escaping from the betrayal of his loyal allies.

He lived alone in his cottage,  
knowing only the taste of steel on his foes  
and the memory of his liege falling at his feet.

Will you listen to the musings of a broken blade?

* * *

**Chapter 1; Sid**

Sid stood at the front of the village, back straight and hand on his sword. Despite that, he was feeling quite relaxed for once, but he was not the kind of man who would allow himself to rest. If he indulged the urge, more people could end up without a life.

In Cobblestone, he protected the people from greedy folk, the ones who didn’t shy away from violence. From the moment he stepped foot into town, knocking out the bandit with the hilt of his sword, he found just short of a hundred civilians looking for him for protection.

A mercenary such as him should be charging them for service, he reminded himself. But that wasn’t the sort of man he was. They already provided him a home, a small garden to feed off, and a winter’s worth of supplies.

For eight years, he provided them safety, and for those similar eight years, they gave him a home.

The sunset cast a beautiful orange hue across the hills and bounced off the roofs of the little settlement. If any worms were to attack, they would've done it already. With dusk came just a little time for Sid to rest.

Footsteps from behind attempted to surprise him, but he laughed, catching the young boy by his arm and reminding him to go home for the night.

“What about you Mr. Sid? Momma said that you should come for supper tonight.” The little boy's eyes seem to beg at him. He always look to him as a hero, ever since he was born. Sid saved their little family after all.

“Alright, kid,” he gave in. He gave one last look out to the barren rocks below him and then followed the boy home to where a simple, yet warm meal awaited him.

* * *

Sid woke up startled, shivering, though not from any cold that he felt in his house. Instead, he rose from his cot and stumbled to his washroom, holding the basin with both hands and breathing heavily. He looked at himself in the mirror, the ghost of the fallen whispering in his ear and the grim vision of death bare on his face.

Once again, he saw freshly spilt blood on the walls and between the floorboards of his little room through the reflection. He remembered it to be so bright, so red, against trodden ground. It was only today, he believed. It wasn't eight years ago. 

Quickly, Sid fumbled back to his sword where he thought stickiness would be. He touches it with his hands, swearing it was as smooth as he left it, but the phantoms of grime coated the surface. No matter how much he rubbed at the edge with his thumb, the itching sensation remained.

Why was he so unwilling to let go of his weapon? When would he be allowed to put down his blade?

He was left alive with no other survivors. That in of itself was his worst sort of hell. 

* * *

Once again, the sun rose, and Sid’s face was the first one it touched.

He stood at the entrance of the village, feet apart and eyes unwavered from the stone road leading towards him. There were no visitors who came during the night, but he couldn’t risk the threat of a violent morning. Dew stuck to his clothes, leaving him chilled. Still, he made no motion to warm himself until the signs of life began to stir behind him.

The villagers were already used to his dumb devotion, didn’t question it. Instead, a few brought him a pastry, fresh from their ovens, which he kept in his pocket. Others went straight to working the grim earth that they relied on.

At least they were safe, Sid believed. They were secure in their lives and they could see another day-- they had a purpose. 

He stayed until the children emerged from their houses; his favorite came to him immediately.

“Ahoy, Mr. Sid!”

His grip on the sword’s hilt relaxed and he turned the corner of his mouth. “G’day, son. Where you off to this morn’?”

The boy shrugged, “I dunno. I’m bored. Can you teach me more sword stuff today? Can we go into the clearing and play?”

“Not this time. I’m feeling old.”

Stomping his foot, he said, “No! Momma said she’s older than you, so you are not old!”

Sid laughed, feeling a bit lighter. “So it is.”

“Then, you’ll play with me?”

“Not now,” he hummed, “and not with a sword until you’re of age.”

There was no need to bring children into the game of death.

* * *

“Have you seen my son today?” the town apothecary asked.

It was still light out. Sid had a piece of bread in his mouth when he answered. “Only to greet the day. Has he gone off with the other children again?”

Worry set in the woman’s eyes and he immediately unsheathed his sword.

“They came back without him?”

She corrected, “He left on his lonesome. His mates have no word on his whereabouts.” Clasping his hand with both of hers, she pleaded, “Mr. Sid, he’s all I have left. There are brutes nearby. I know he looks up to you, but--”

Sid assured her, “I will find him. He will be home for supper.”

* * *

It took him no time at all to follow the boy’s trail into the mountain pass. There were no roads that led to the village from behind, unless brigands found cliffs to be viable.

Sid remembered though, desperate folk would use anything to get what they needed.

He found nothing for the first hour of his search, but it was the only place left. If the boy weren’t in the village, and he hadn’t passed Sid to leave their boundaries, then the back ways were his last hope. The path snaked unabashedly until it disappeared altogether, until footsteps were seen, stomped into the dirt.

It ran to a den that housed unwelcome guests.

Inside the center, surrounded by brigands, was the boy. His hands were tied behind him and two men were crouched down at his feet, attempting to tie them together as the boy kicked into the air.

“You bad people! When I’m bigger, I’m going to be just like Mr. Sid! I’m going to pummel you all!”

The largest man snorted, “Aye, and by the time ye a man, the village will be no more. We’d’ve plundered it dry, eh?”

A few more of the group laughed, but stopped when Sid marched towards the boy from the entryway.

“Holding a hostage is dishonorable,” he said simply.

The leader turned to him with a cocky motion, “What do you know about honor, gatekeeper?”

“Mr. Sid! You came! I told you, I told you all that he would.” The boy’s little voice echoed, his excitement raw.

Sid held a finger to his lips, and it quieted the boy enough for him to speak. “I know more than a common man. I know that the boy is due for a meal before dusk at his home.”

That confidence drew a laugh. The man drew his sword, but the glint of the hilt caught Sid’s attention. It was like the sky opened and brought rain upon a drought.

He hurriedly asked, “Where did you get that--”

But the man charged, “Dead men need no answers.”


	6. Maka; Chapter 1

Maka Albarn as Primrose Azelhart.

Her name was Marika, and she was a dancer.

Trapped in the city of pleasures by her own volition,  
she discarded the remnants of her innocence  
to fulfil her heart’s greatest desire.

  
There were no boundaries too far,  
and no amount of humiliation  
that was too much for her to bear.

In the dark chambers during Sunlands’ nights,  
the dreams that replayed over and over again  
reminded her of what she’d lost  
during that horrible stormy night.

The mark of the raven was her enemy,  
and for as long they breathe death,  
her father’s memory would never rest.

Will you watch the dance of a vengeful maiden?

* * *

**Chapter 1; Maka**

Maka took a deep breath, holding a hand to her chest as she stood in front of the full length mirror. The warmth of the desert crept through the silly curtain that separated the simple room from the streets, but at least she wasn’t cold, dressed as she was.

A red, high-slit skirt wrapped her hips and a similar bandeau covered her breasts. Around her neck laid chains upon chains of gold, matching with the bangles on her wrists and ankles; her hair tie shone with the same sort of gleam. Her whole midriff was framed by embroidered hems and it dipped in careful spots that hurt her modesty. If she moved her shoulders in a way that shifted her stance, she risked more than any girl would want to show.

But her body wasn’t a vessel of shame anymore; it was her tool for her greatest desire.

She attached large hoops onto her ears just in time for her boss to enter the room with no warning. Half of the dancers with her were still getting dressed, and Maka, through years of practice, hid the disgust that wanted to show on her face.

“How are my girls?” Mr. Monty said, eyeing each one with a sneer. He laughed when some shielded their sensitive parts and looked gleeful when he noticed Maka pretended to pay him no heed.

He approached her at her mirror, buzzing closer, Maka thought, like a mosquito.

“And you, how are you, my favorite flower.” His finger that swiped her under her chin felt cold. “You have quite a show to put on today. Be sure you pay special attention to our benefactor tonight. Otherwise, it’s your life we may miss.”

“Yes, Master,” Maka said, devoid of emotion.

“Hmm, and visit me after. You’ll have a client.” Mr. Monty crept a hand lower down her arm, pushing her off-shoulder top lower along with it. “The job is the reward, depritive girl.”

She made no move to fix herself, looking straight ahead and locking eyes with herself. “Of course, Master.”

He smiled, slapping her cheek soundly before moving away. “Good, you understand. Remember who took you from the streets, who clothed you and gave you a new life. Remember whose money you wear around your neck, and how much debt each of you owe to me.” Looking back once more at the door frame, he said, “It’s the least you can do now, right, girls?”

Once he was gone, her friends swarmed her immediately. Remarks of their horror, regret, and fear were all the same. Maka hushed them all, especially her blue-adorned bed-mate whose tears seeped through into the open.

“Hush, he could still be listening,” she reminded them. “We must finish preparing.”

* * *

In the largest tavern of Sunshade stood a grand stage at the front of the room. All eyes drifted there once the lights dimmed, and in only a mere three opening acts, the drunken fools were ready for Maka’s solo dance.

She entered like a breeze that shifted fallen leaves-- like the home that she remembered, that she left for the heart of desolate land. The movement she learned as a girl carried her through the beginning motions of the song, but experience in her craft emerged instantaneously. Maka was the golden light who shone in the dark world of sin. She moved hearts and tempted the gods.

Once her performance ended and there was enough time for applause, Maka was ushered off stage. Though she wanted nothing to do with the noise in the tavern, Mr. Monty led her towards the back where his latest favorite client was waiting with a hood over his head and a hand on his mug. It was as if he knew that they were coming, and he waved to his guard to let them through. Mad with self importance, Mr. Monty let her by her elbow and presented her to the man. 

“My best dancer, old friend. Will you have the pleasure of staying upstairs in our most luxurious rooms with our most luxurious woman?”

The man cleared his throat, “That won't be necessary, Monty. We won't be staying for very long.”

Her boss reach to him. “then please, we could take care of your coat. You can stay for as long as you need, and have a little ale on the house.”

After a moment of debate he shrugged off his coat and handed it to Mr. Monty, who then threw it towards Maka when his friend wasn't watching. It carried the weight of dismissal, and at first, she was happy to leave, but the shadow underneath the new man's sleeve caused her eyes to widen. She couldn't stay to stare though, excusing herself to entertain the rest of the patrons before anyone suspected otherwise.

Luckily for her, she never forgot the Mark of the Crow and the three sinners who killed her father.

* * *

Exhilaration filled her; longing clouded her. Careful to not stir Tsugumi, who slept beside her, Maka took one last look at the girls in the room that she shared with them for years, and left without so much as a goodbye. She didn’t have time to change from her costume, only grabbing her dagger, strapping it onto her thigh, and stolen coin from the tables at the tavern. She had to return to the city before the man with the crow tattoo left for the night. 

Mr. Monty’s greed convinced him to stay for a few hours longer, drinking and being merry among other disgusting, powerful men. Eventually, the girls were dismissed because their delicate ears could not understand the workings of business, but before Maka closed the office door, she found that she only had a few moments to spare.

Creeping back to where she last saw them, she perched, waiting for them to emerge. Maka meant to follow him to wherever he was to be. She’d waited like she had for the last three years, hoping that the infamy of the city would draw criminals of her sort. Every night, she scoured the tavern for a glimpse, a sign, a kind of tell that her targets were finally upon her, and that she could finally be free.

Not a second longer, her master and the man emerged from the entryway. They walked each other out, and before Maka could follow, she felt a hand on her shoulder and stifled a scream.

“Maka, what are you doing?” It was her dearest friend Tsugumi, the one who should’ve still been sleeping in their bed and safely from the night. Worry showed on her face, and she asked, “Why aren’t you home?”

A few brief words and urgency convinced Tsugumi to help her, though blind loyalty was really why Tsugumi draped her own cloak around Maka. They followed the Crow and his guard to the edge of the city, watching as the two walked in the dim waning moonlight. Maka turned to Tsugumi for a hug and thanks, but found her gone from her sight.

She only had a second to panic before a familiar voice sneered to her, “And where do you think you’re going, my flower?”

The mosquito had his arm wrapped around Tsugumi’s neck, squeezing her breath away as he dug the point of a knife into her side. He cackled at Tsugumi’s quick tears and pressed him against her further. His response at her stifled sobs only invigorated him.

Maka clenched her jaw. She answered him, “Out on a midnight walk, master.”

“Through the desert?” he spat. “And where will you go after? All you have now is here. I gave you the world, flower. All you had to do was keep your pretty mouth shut.” He pointed the knife deeper into Tsugumi’s skin, barely cutting her stomach. To her, he said, “Quiet. The good children in their beds are sleeping.”

“You disgust me,” Maka finally admitted aloud. For three years, she kept her silence. She spent sleepless nights and horrible days with this man, three years too long.

“Watch what you say, Maka,” Mr. Monty warned. “I have your friend’s life in my hands after all. Don’t think your daft head that your obsession over our visitor was hidden at all. He is long gone to Stillsnow, and you, my flower, have not stepped foot from this city since you became mine.”

“Then I will go.”

“You will not!” His aggression raised a sob from Tsugumi’s throat. “Return to your bed now for your next meal. Or else this girl dies and tonight, I’ll take you into mine.”

She might have given up in that moment, until Tsugumi shouted, “Do not! Do not make his choice.”

“Tsugumi--”

“If this is my life, then in death, I will be free.”

“Enough from you, girl!”

Mr. Monty stabbed her soundly through her belly, ripping the night slip and darkening it with red. Before her body dropped though, Maka had lept, burrowing her own dagger into their former employer’s neck without hesitation. A bubbled scream came, eyes angrily boring into her face, and finally, nothing.


	7. Kilik; Chapter 1

Kilik Rung as Alfyn Greengrass.

His name was Kilik, and he was an apothecary.

Among the fertile hills of Clearbrook  
lived an idealistic healer whose life was saved  
by an unknown traveler in his boyhood.

Indebted to the trade, he accepted no money,  
no fame from what he felt was right.

Though he lived in poverty, he was rich from rewards  
from the gratitude and well wishes of the townspeople  
in his small but connected village.

When his ambitions drew him away  
from his familiar lands and his honest beliefs,  
he discovered that perhaps,  
not all good intentions will have good consequences.

Will you know the bitterness of a hopeless dreamer?

* * *

**Chapter 1; Kilik**

With all the years he’s spent, performing small miracles, Kilik had exhausted all he could learn from travelling tomes and dusty minds.

There were no ailments that he couldn't treat, no illness that he didn't know in the local area. Anything that came into his home land was fought with the most effective medicines and finest herbs he could carry. Granted it was a small town. Their modest size meant that they needed as much as they could be given, and he was limited with what could be taken for his own devices. He never found the blight that closely delivered him to Death’s feet ages ago.

He rose from the side of his mothers’ grave, promising to be back after his next appointment. Her passing was fairly recent, brought on by a heart attack. Still, he held her good natured heart close to his own, hoping to pass on her lightheartedness and kindly visage to his patients.

When he reached the plaza close by the river bank, he popped a sprig of watercress into his mouth and chewed while he waited for his new friend. At the chime of the bell, a taller blond came running out of the crowd, clutching his bag to travel faster. Once he arrived at Kilik’s feet, he reached into the pocket and drew out a bottle.

“What is this?” he said, unceremoniously.

Kilik pushed his hand away from his face and said easily, “Coneflower. Are you always this energetic in the morning, Clay?”

His companion at least had the decency to look sheepish. “Good morning,” he finally greeted.

Clay, from what Kilik had learned, was a travelling apothecary from the southern Cliftlands. He was light on his feet and never stayed in one area too often, but it was mainly because he claimed there was so much more to see. His mistress, rather, his high-born employer agreed to fund his trip so that he could return with even more to offer her in the future. He left with anything that could fit into a single satchel and a scathing note from his co-worker who reminded him to stay on task.

Eventually, Clay found his way to Clearbrook; the rumors of a practitioner drew him to the town and he hoped to meet the person whose reputation went further than themselves. Little did he know, he found a young man, and his expertise ran as far as the plains in the Riverlands.

Kilik extended his small home to a stranger, and in return, he learned of hills of ice that never melted and of deserts that glistened gold. He learned of forests that grew as thick as honey and of cliffs that howled with wind, yet there were people who lived in those lands.

And where there were people, there were patients. And where there were patients, there was medicine. And where there was medicine, there were apothecaries.

Hearing those strange places made him feel a longing, but Kilik planted his seeds in his village, and it was there where he would grow until it couldn’t hold him anymore.

* * *

Kilik was only mere steps away from the bridge when a man approached him, out of breath.  
In tears, the father carried his daughter closer and explained, “She was playing by the caves. We’ve never had danger to be wary of.”

To his surprise, it was Clay who recognized the symptoms.

“An blotted viper bite, in the Riverlands?” he hesitated.

Kilik asked hurriedly, “Do you know of it?”

“The creature is native to the Sunlands-- the desert. There’s no way that it travelled here on its own, but if it did,” Clay paused, “we need to be careful.”

“We need an antidote, fast. Did you say she was playing at the caves?”

The man nodded, “The Cave of Rhiyo.”

* * *

While Clay stayed behind to aid the girl’s symptoms, Kilik went deeper into the unknown. He’d only ever needed to stay by the entrance where it held all he needed, but if he were to go beyond what he knew, he worried about what else he would want. 

The first time he was struck by plague, a hero came during his travels to give him a potion, a healing tonic that drew air to his lungs and blood through his veins. It was the only time he’d ever seen the man, but he vanished as soon as he came. Before he was gone, he told Kilik, who was still recovering in bed that he was happy to share what he had, because it meant he still had something to give. 

Those words carried Kilik through into adulthood, sharing the same dream that he had as a boy. However, he never had the chance to go help as that traveler did. Perhaps it was why he enjoyed Clay’s company.

With all the excitement and need for his craft, how could he go?

Kilik pushed farther into the caves until a sheet of blue petals sparkled in front of him. A slight draft came from above, making the flowers shiver. He only had time to scan the large room once before the snake descended on him with fangs bared.

* * *

It took Clay no time at all to concoct the antidote. Using what he had gathered during the time Kilik was away, he only had a few more stirs until he was ready for the venom.

Now the student, Kilik watched as Clay administered it himself to the young girl, dabbing her mouth softly with a cloth and assuring her parents of her recovery.

Kilik asked, “How did you know what to do?”

“I’ve been to the Sunlands before, remember?” Clay shrugged. “It was only a short visit, but I’m a quick study.”

Discomfort made Kilik follow with, “And these other strange lands hold other medicines and dangers?”

Softly, he said, “Yes. Maybe one of these is the same one that saved your life as you have told.”

Kilik stayed silent for a while after, at least, until he had more to say. “I won’t find that person until I leave here, huh?”

“Nay, probably not.”

A little hopeful, Kilik turned to Clay, “Then, will you watch the village until my return?”

His new friend smiled, “Well, I have a lot to learn here still. I supposed I can stay while you get your share of the world.”

In a few days time, Kilik turned to the wide expanse. To the wind, he bid his farewell.

“I’ll be back before long, ma.”


	8. Soul; Chapter 8

Soul Eater Evans as Therion.

His name was Soul, and he was a thief.

Across his eye laid a brutal reminder  
that the ones he had trusted  
were nothing more than phantoms.

The skills that carried him through Riverford  
and the eventual lead to Cobblestone,  
were all his making, his alone.

But in the shadow of his thoughts  
was the memory of the one  
who he called brother.

Carrying the shackles of his past,  
he shares his mourning  
through offending his victims.

Will you trail the path of a lonely thief?

* * *

**Chapter 1; Soul**

Soul lifted his head at the sound of whispers in the lively tavern. Though he situated himself towards the center of the room, accompanied by only a jug and a small notebook to disguise as a traveling author, his ears pricked at the beggars in the corner of the room.

They whispered of treasures within the most impregnable manor. They warned of traps that would catch even the most stealthy of thieves and the guards that could beat any competitor within the walls. And they breathed longingly of the art lined halls and the glittering trove that held the most valuable of stones: the Destiny.

Alas, they sighed. No thief could ever hope to sneak into the walls. No one other than the master thief, never caught in name and a legend amongst the shadiest of taverns.

Soul finished his line and closed his journal. He tucked it into the folds of his cape and finished the drink, leaving two tyn as tip.

Onwards to the mansion he goes, for a master thief would be a fool to ignore a bold of a challenge as that call.

* * *

He snuck in under the guise of an appraiser, hoping to fulfill a quota that the lady of the house herself demanded. The guard had no reason to be suspicious, because why would a thief be as brave as to walk through their front door?

Soul trickled in like a leak on a rainy day, like the dust from a desert storm, and the cold that crept through the flooring at night. He blew a kiss to the set of armor at the front of the hall and waved to the servants who pass him, asking for directions to the lady’s quarters, only to go in the opposite direction when they looked the other way. No woman of her nobility would endanger herself by positioning next to her treasures, not even the lady of the Yngling Manor, who boasts the most reliable and impenetrable security in the South.

As he grew closer, he noticed the walls becoming more barren, more dull, and more less. 

It was a telling sign to him, because the path to valuables would be the least decorated place in the entire wing. It would all be contained, to be frank. But as he turned the corner, he ran into a man, a butler whose age looked below his status.

The young man was well-dressed, adorning a suit jacket of the highest cloth over an off white dress shirt, carefully tucked in at the waist and held together with a belt. Pocket watch in hand, and back straight as a board, he greeted Soul with a simple, “you’re late.”

Immediately, Soul reached for his dagger and aimed it towards the heart.

The butler swatted the handle away easily, and returned a knife of his own, but this time aimed at the arm. It ricocheted off Soul’s metal arm band, and not for the first time, Soul thanked it for his life.

As his sleeve ripped away, his assailant noted from the glint of steel, “A prisoner’s band. So you were caught once before, Master Thief.”

“Once, but never again.”

The butler picked up Soul’s dagger, but not with hostility. Instead, Soul watched cautiously as he looked it over, nodding at the weight and feeling the blade’s point. “Eastern lands’ arms. You’ve been far on your travels.”

His attention was elsewhere, but it was clear that not much would escape his eye. If Soul were to run now, he would be struck down by his own weapon; there was no greater shame than being captured, so Soul had no choice but to carry on.

“You praise me, sir, but it isn’t everyday that a mere servant would be familiar with tools from a distant trade.”

“Ah, but perhaps,” the butler said with a bow, “the occupation is not as different as you think.”

He reached out to hand back the dagger, a gesture that was much too suspicious for Soul, but there weren’t any immediate dangers. He stepped forward to reach for it, arm stretched, and just before his fingers touched it, the butler dropped the weapon, pulling out a band with daft fingers and locking Soul’s wrist with the brand of the Thief.

That made two for Soul, one a chosen reminder, the other the shame of a jailbird. 

No bit of lockpicking would release his chains. His pride hung on the line now as he prepared for what punishment awaited him.

“At ease, Sir Thief.”

Another voice came from the end of the corridor. A stranger in light blue against the shadows came forward, arms crossed and face haughty. Her heels clicked against the silence of the manor. Her long blonde hair radiated light from the dull walls, and the shine of the family crest at the base of her neck tempted Soul like no other jewel. She was the Lady of the house herself, Anastasia Yngling.

“So, this is the face of Soul Eater. I feel lucky. Not many get to say they lived after seeing you.” She stopped in front of him, feeling taller than she was and too larger than life. “You should greet me out of respect, but I hardly believe you’d remember your manners.”

He remained silent, eyes pointed downwards and shielded by his bangs. The weight of his captor was heavy on his wrist.

“Respect may be something he’s ran dry of, mistress,” the young butler said with a hint of humor.

Lady Yngling huffed, at odds with her own words, and tried instead, “Well, I am Anastasia Yng-”

“I know.” Soul rolled his eyes as snorts came from the man beside him. “You may spare me of introduction, Miss. Instead, tell me what punishment will fit my crime.”

“There is no crime, Soul Eater. Rather, you will do me a service.”

Skeptical, he pressed, “You wish to make me as your butler here?”

She shook her head. “Akane has been in my fathers’ service, and his position is filled indefinitely. No, I need you to perform a task.”

“One at which would risk my life?”

“Should your hand be pressed, then run.”

“Why choose a lowly tea leaf? Surely, you could employ more capable persons.”

“On the contrary, Master Thief,” Anastasia Yngling scoffed. “Your feats have reached further than you’ve traveled, and yet no other person can boast that they’ve seen you in the flesh. It took time for my brokers to reach you, but when you found about the impregnable mansion, you saw fit to pilfer from the building with the utmost security.”

At his hesitation, and likely his confusion, the butler Akane explained, “The men in the tavern. They had been gossiping rather loudly, were they not?”

“To lure me here,” Soul gritted his teeth.

“To call you to me,” Lady Yngling corrected. “Only fools have trespassed thus far. And only you have made it thus far. Your talents are needed, Soul Eater. Help me.” She caught him testing the weight of his wrist, and added, “Your shackles will be unlocked once we complete my request, unless you prefer the brand of your greatest shame.”

“Go on, what is it, then?”

“Steal back the item that was stolen from me. My family treasure, the Emerald Jewel has been taken from its vault.”

“It’s that special that you need me for it?”

Griped, she said, “Yes. It is. It’s been trusted through generations, stemming back from the origin of the Gods--”

“So, you are chasing fairy tales. And I’m sure your impenetrable fortress had also called these thieves to your home, hmm?”

“We know things you do not, Eater. We have enemies who go far deeper than your little--”

Akane cut in, though amused thoroughly, “We do not know who, but I’m sure your skillset can find out for us.”

“And if I do, then you guarantee my freedom?”

“You have our word,” Lady Yngling answered.

“And I can believe this because?”

“Because all you have is my word.”

She was unyielding in her stare, so much so that he had to look away. Akane propped open another door down the hall and gave directions for Soul’s escape. He reminded Soul that any correspondence can be addressed to him, and similarly, he will send news through agents should they find out more than they have then.

Just before Soul could slip out of the nearest window in the room, he heard, “Wait.”

Anastasia Yngling held her arm up, as though she had enough authority to stop him. “You may address me as Anya. That is what my trusted companions refer to me as.”

“I’ll remember that, Miss,” and he vanished faster than she could respond.


	9. Jackie; Chapter 1

Jacqueline O'Lantern Dupre as H’aanit. 

Her name was Jackie, and she was a hunter.

Born without a name, a family,  
nor a home, she found solace in the wild  
creatures who tended to her needs.

Through her veins ran thick blood  
of the ancient deep forest clan  
who tamed beasts and made them theirs.

Once found by her master,  
a woman in her formidable years,  
she was raised as a girl, a friend,  
and a daughter of the village.

When winter came in S'warkii,  
her master asked her to await her return,  
to keep her village alive until the next solar cycle.

Will you catch a glimpse of the heedful guardian?

* * *

**Chapter 1; Jackie**

“Awaken, Svetilka. It is the morning.”

The grand leopard lifted her head from the ground and blinked the sunlight from her eyes. Svetilka shook herself awake, fluffing up her fur and finally finishing up her routine with a yawn, one wide enough to bare her fangs and capture the stares of those too naive to understand fear.

Sitting against the trunk of a great pine with a ready hand was her companion— her master. The woman, Jackie, reached out fully to scratch under Svetilka’s chin, stealing every bit of warmth that she could under her rich, thick coat.

“We must do our rounds,” Jackie said, not waiting for a response. “Along the way, mayhaps you will do some feeding, yes?”

If she understood, Svetilka showed no indication. Instead, she followed Jackie when she pushed herself up and entered the deep forest at the border of their village without hesitation.

* * *

Once she returned from the forest, two rabbits on her belt and fingers just barely bruised, an officer called Jackie to arms in haste.

“A beast from yonder woods appeared in our parts. Lady Jackie, we are in danger.”

“Aye, the prey appeared rustled,” she said, tossing one of her catches to Svetilka, who caught it in her maw. “Have we idea of the breed?”

“Lemur in appearance, but predator in nature by survivor account.”

Jackie wided her eyes, “A ghisarma? In the North?” After confirmation, she asked, “Are there others?”

“Just the one,” the officer shook his head. “But it has done enough damage for five. Our village can not survive with it as our competitor.”

“No, we can not. Come Svetilka, we depart once more.”

She undid the last rabbit from her side, and tossed it to her friend as a treat.

* * *

If Marie were here, she would complain about leaving so soon after surveillance, Jackie thought. She would pour herself a pint with the tavern folk down the road and boast of her trophies, which may or may not be truth. Only then would Marie be fit enough to prove that her deeds carried no drops of falsities, calling for Jackie to carry her off so they could complete their hunt before dusk ate the sun.

Jackie missed her master, sorely.

But with the skills she was left with and the trust bestowed upon her as S’warkii’s only guardian, Jackie shouldered her bow and trekked through the trailess grounds.

Past a few knots, her ears pricked at the absence of sound.

“The trees are quiet, aye, Svetilka?”

* * *

  
“Halt,” she commanded her leopard, but ran forward to the shadows under the canopy of pine.

“What gruesome horrors,” she whispered, examining the fallen wolves whose blood soaked the moss beneath them. They littered the floor like decaying leaves. Jackie said to no one but herself, “The whole pack is gone.”

Along the neck and belly of the wolf at her knees were deep scratches and bite marks. Its flesh hung by tendons from its bone. A leg, torn from the socket, was flung into the thicket that poured warmth from the body. Its spine bent in odd ways, and most strangely, its innards were all present— liver intact.

“It slaughtered for sport, not for a meal.”

Jackie closed the wolf’s eyes, praying.

* * *

Fresh from a kill, the ghisarma growled from its crimson mouth, stark from the dark purples of its fur. Its padded feet held its body up above a doe, dripping red onto its speckled white back, panting heavily from its activity during the day and night before.

Jackie met its bulging, unblinking eyes with understanding. From what she saw, it was maddened conscious that lead the ghisarma to Whisperwood, but in her heart, it called to compassionate awareness that only a huntress of ancient blood possessed. The ghisarma had been a victim as well, chased from its home until it settled far enough away from its threats.

“Return to the forest, for you’ve taken more than your share.”

She unsheathed her dagger while Svetilka readied her claws.

Death was the kindest mercy that she could offer to her prey.

* * *

From the edge of the trees, Jackie re-emerged with a heart tied to her belt that grew colder as she walked back to her village. She reported to the officials inside of their post while her dearest leopard cleaned her face from the blood of the ghisarma, licking her paw ominously as others averted their gaze.

Svetilka kept watch until her master came back out to give her scratches under her chin and down her neck.

“Master Marie will have a fit if we have too many thrills, aye? Come, we dine under a roof tonight— Svetilka, what is the matter?”

Her companion mewed aloud to the bushes, and only moments later, a great direwolf came from the thicket. It appeared duller in shade, weaker in stance. But it looked to Jackie with familiarity and importune through its only one eye.

His name was Kladivo, and Jackie’s heart dropped to her stomach.

“Where is Marie, Kladivo?

No sooner had the seasons changed thirteen moons ago, that Marie departed with the Knights Ardante for a task they claimed only she could handle. There was an ancient threat, they said, carrying their message from their Lord in Atlasdam. If left unattended, it would spell disaster for all.

Of course, Jackie’s adoptive mother responded to the call, leaving with nothing but the cape on her shoulders and her direwolf. She told Jackie, “Watch these woods. Guard them in my place. I will return with a tale to impress and with ale enough for the both of us.”

Yet some time later, only Kladivo came back.

His ears twitched at the name of his mistress, and he let out a whine that carried more weight than Jackie wanted to know.

She hummed, “Master seems to find herself in more trouble than it’s worth, and with the death of the ghisarma, the trees will be sated for some time now.” Untying the heart, she handed it to Kladivo as an offering.

“Very well, Kladivo, lead us to her.”

**Author's Note:**

> Part 2 continued in "A Journey Begins"


End file.
